Little Falls transcript., 1887-03-04

s
waa All! Singer Bardinelli, is il
you'll Oh, Phil What { &
Pale and terrified she lay il the
ar!Es OF her husband who, livid as
death, only held her closely, making
NO eftcrt to restrain the Italian,
who had, without ceremony, sized
upon the brides hand, upon the finger
OF which was appearing a faint line OF
discoloratlOn, marking the course OF
the envenomed sting she had received.
The one word spoken, as he applied
his lips in sanction to the wound, had
sent deadly chill to the bridegroom 8
heart.
"Tarantula!" 81. ; ......>,
No other word was spoken. Darby
knew what meant the drop or two ot
greenish, viscous liquid which the Ital-
ian once or twice elected from his lips,
each time returning in mad haste to
his task OF peril. Darby's bride knew.
too, what sisnified Bardineili's desper-
ate earnestness, as we'll as she com.
pretended the threatening of danger to
herself in the vertigoand shivering al
ready creeping over her. But neither
of these thought of the risk Bardinelli
was hazarding; Bardinelh himself did
not give a thought to the matter till
the possible results of his daring came
to him in q flash of consciousness.
An eager glance, convincing him of the
fact that the poison was being abated
in the veins of his whilom pupil re-
vea!ed TO him, besides, q heck of blood
close to the puncture in the dainty
hand over which he had been gloating.
The blood, he knew, was from q
wound in his own lip. His stronge
teeth had nearly met through it as he
lay in hiding there beyond the fern
mound.
But the virus that was creeping
from her veins into his was as the
wine OF life to him in comparison
with the venom of jealousy that had
maddened him as he lay there watch
ing the welded lovers, reveling in their
stolen bliss.
"It is done," he said, presently, lift
ing flushed face from his odd work.
''There remains, Signor Darby, but
the drop OF poison taken up by the
blood before ! could get to her"
1.-The drop or two taken up by her
blood? Heaven of mercy, is there no
antidote?"
'There is one, but that may be nm
possible"
"Speak, man: there must be no i'm
possible here"
"There shall be no impossible, Sig
nor, if Bardinelli's streng gth faint not, )"
the Italian quietly said; ''for taran-
tisn, in my land, there are the taran.
tella dances"
II know-I remember" F" cried Darby.
"lt is music, music she must have;
and you-you Bardinelli-"
II know the music-yes. When the
poison works in her nerves and brain
she will move; and IL will play the
death dance for her. Come, Signor
Darby, let me carry her; I can best
place her SO that the faintest notes
may stir her numbed senses"
Half frantic With agony Darby made
no protest, but yielded her to the
italian. Was not the priceless life at
his mercy? Had he asksd for the
heart in his bosom he would not have
wished to say him nay. Fragile of
build though he was, Bardinelli caught
up the lovely burden surrendered to
him and bore her, with the strength
and speed Of an athlete, back to the
glare and languorous perfumes Of the
ballroom.
"Her life is mine, her life is mine!"
he muttered, in his half delirious Joy,
as he felt the pulsations OF her heart
answering 20 the wild throbbmgs OF
the poison-charged arteries OF his
breast.
Awestricken. the wedding jewellers
cleared the floor OF the dance hall.
There We're rapid questionings and ag-
itated replies; there were groans here
and there and sobs half suppressed.
sephulchre in the garish house.
Through this silence stole the first
weird notes of Bardinelh's Dance OF
Death.
No one looked at the musician;' ev.
cry eye was fastened on the bride.
She lay upon the wine-velvet of the
divan, white and rigid; about her
trailed the satin and lace and orange
flowers Of her bridal attire.
Bardinelli's violin was giving forth
quicker strains. So fantastic were the
chords, now plaintive and imploring,
now full OF a mad energy, anon
dropping into fathomless depths
OF pathos, it seemed as though the
player were improvising the airs, tell
ing to the still figure upon the couch
the tale OF a life noble in it's dreams
and aspirations, tragic in Its failures.
Yet through the wondrous harmony
dropped ever, clear and pure as a
shower OF pearls, the notes OF the
rhythmic tarantella waltz.
The call to movement reached the
locked senses OF the dreamer. She
moved; she arose to her feet; she
glided over the floor. Her movements
were as rhy thmic as were the strains
OF Bardinelli's violin, they were those
of the Graces. Her face was the frozen
one OF the doomed Iphigenla. Upon
the silence of the room the Italians g
medley wrought like magic. The we'd
ding guests swayed hither and thither
in grotesque mimicry of the dream
dancer upon the polished floor. The
breeze Of the night waited themysteri-
Gus strains out through the open case
ments, and bore them past wondering
wayfarers upward to the empryean to
sweep .3e confines OF other realms OF
mystery.
Bardinelli was lending all the cum
ming Of his hand to rouse the suspend
ed faculties of his beloved pupil. The
heavy lids yelling her vision were slow
ly raised; surrounding objects were
once more photographed upon
the retina of the eye; the tinge of life
was returning to lip and cheek; her